Seconds, Minutes, Hours, Days
by moonupabove
Summary: A collection of drabbles based on prompt challenges and themes. (Riddled with shipping.)
1. 001 Fantasies

Sometimes McKinley liked to let his mind wander. It was not a luxury he indulged in too frequently; bad dreams and guilt sickness had curbed fantasizing from becoming a habit. Over time he had learned to handle the sexual day dreams, where he would bite Price's skin and tug at his uniform. Price could whine his name as often as McKinley wanted him too inside his mind. Some days they were sensual, sweet and slow - others were rough and hard and raw. These visions could make McKinley bothered and hot, but that stopped phasing him long ago.

The ones that got to him were simple ones. There were moments when McKinley caught himself thinking about taking Price back to Orlando and sharing ice cream. A few times he envisioned falling asleep together in the same bed, fully clothed and chaste and wrapped up in each other nonetheless. He thought about teaching Price how to dance, and Price teaching him how to cook. Fantasies about holding hands during movies and talking until the sun rose were the ones that annihilated McKinley's ability to love himself and made getting up in the morning harder and harder. McKinley had never wanted anything more in the world than he wanted Kevin Price.


	2. 002 New Pairing (Churchtarts)

The breeze from the west made Thomas shiver as he walked across the grassy field. The wrapped flowers he was clutching to his chest shook pollen into his face. Thomas sneezed and tightened his grip. Church looked at him and snickered. "I told you, you should have brought a jacket."

Thomas shook his head. "I would have gotten too warm. I'd rather be cold than too warm."

Church rolled his eyes and took Thomas' arm in his. Thomas leaned against him and they continued to make their way to the wiry gates in the distance. Church wished he had parked closer, but the road was poorly paved. The walk to the cemetery was bordering on a hike.

Eventually, the pair reached the gates and paused. Church took Thomas' hand and squeezed it. Thomas let Church lead him into the enclosure. They passed older, mossy headstones with bold last names and terse epitaphs. Glossier monuments for the more recently deceased began to proliferate. Church moved from holding Thomas' hand to his arm again.

They stopped at a round headstone where Thomas' sister's name was engraved in ornate text. Church pressed a kiss to Thomas' temple and stepped back. Thomas knelt gently down in front of his sister's grave and tucked the flowers, daisies and lilacs, against the stone.

"I came, sis. I'm here now."


	3. 003 Out Loud

Connor needed to hear him say it, even if it was just once. He knew Kevin felt it, too. He knew because he saw the way Kevin looked at him and heard the way he said his name. Just one declaration of love out loud, and Connor did not think he would ever be sad again. He wanted to mention that to Kevin. Connor also knew mentioning that to Kevin would either send him into an anxious spiral or skyrocket his ego. Connor thus kept his mouth shut about the matter and continued business as usual.

Kevin wanted to hear it as well. After the way they had carried each other, he felt like he deserved it. Though Kevin Price would never admit it, he felt the occasional sting of insecurity and wanted to be reassured he was loved. Not that he usually thought any different; Connor was so doe-eyed that one would have to be blind to not to see the emotion flowing between the two of them. Kevin knew Connor was still trying to love himself, and willed himself to wait until Connor was comfortable enough to say it out loud.


	4. 004 Mistakes

"I am very sorry about the Mission President, Arnold," Nabulungi said one evening after dinner. The sun had begun to sink low in the Ugandan sky, casting an orange glow that reminded Arnold of his mother's sorbet. He and Nabulungi sat close to each other on one of the village benches watching time pass. Her statement came after long moments of comfortable silence, and Arnold had no idea how to respond.

"You shouldn't be sorry, Nala," Arnold said softly. "You were repeating what I told you. I made the mistake, not you."

Nabulungi looked thoughtful. "Perhaps neither of us did."

Arnold took her hand, taking care to wipe any sweat from his palms on his trousers. "Even Kevin liked the musical you wrote. It was real pretty."

She giggled. "I am glad that came of it, at least. You still gave our village something to believe in."

He looked at her, waiting. Nabulungi finally turned his way and beamed. She leaned forward to touch the tips of their noses.

"No mistakes."


	5. 005 The Dead of Night

Everything is perfect. The mission has completely turned around, Elder Cunningham and Nabulungi couldn't be happier, and I feel like I've found my peace with faith. We're not restrained by rules anymore. Coffee has become a district favorite. I've gotten up at the crack of dawn with Elder McKinley, and Elder Cunningham has stayed up late with the others laughing the whole night through. The best of it, though, is when I'm up in the dead of night downstairs. Alone. With nothing but peace and quiet.

And Elder McKinley, of course. He joins me when he can't get back to sleep and knows I'm up. Sometimes we talk until the sun rises. He likes to listen to me talk about my massive family. He tends to doze off every once in a while, but I don't really mind. That sort of thing would have made me angry a few months ago. Now I just find it endearing and kind of cute, honestly. If he wants to lay down I'll let him rest his legs over mine while I sit up and tell stories. There are nights where we have to wait for the ones who turn in late go to bed so we can have more time to ourselves.

In the dead of night, it seems easier for personal and tender exchanges to occur. Maybe it's because we can't quite make out each other's faces, or because we've convinced ourselves we're tired enough that the other won't remember the details. We're both aware that isn't true, but what we won't admit won't hurt us. I've had a lot of conversations about faith with him. Elder McKinley was nothing but supportive, even when I was considering the scandalous atheism. A night when he was especially bold he decided to make me the first person he came out to. (I wasn't surprised, but tried to pretend it wasn't obvious for his sake.)

Having someone to talk to among sweet silence is the gleam reflecting the perfection I've found here. There's a shine in his eyes I catch every once in a while when we're not talking that makes me want to reach out and touch his face. I'm content to wait until I won't have to do it in the dead of night.


End file.
